Broken Hearts and Second Chances
by Miss-J'x
Summary: Hannah Baker tried to take her life at 17 years old, however she was unsuccessful. She and her parents moved away for a fresh start, leaving everyone to think that she was dead. Clay was never able to move on from the grief, the regrets and the what-if's. His life is nothing without her. 9 years later, they meet again.
1. Chapter 1

I splashed some water on my face, attempting to wake myself up despite not having slept a minute all night. I was exhausted in every sense of the word. I stared at the dead eyes in the reflection, the dark bags prominent against my pale skin. I spend more time than is necessary in the shower, like I do every morning – and most nights, trying in vain to scrub away a lifetime of regrets and broken promises, only to find that I can never really get clean enough.

I dress in the suit and tie that is expected, and that I've worn every day for the past two years, but it never feels right, never sits comfortably. It feels awkward. Nothing ever feels right anyway, might as well just accept it and get on with the day. I run a hand through my hair, slightly longer than I usually wear it but I have absolutely zero motivation to go and get it cut. I style it with some gel – long gone are my 'helmet' hair days. I cringe inwardly at the term _'helmet,'_ and the memories, the painful reminders, that flood my mind _._

I pop open the pill bottle that sits in the mirrored cabinet, tipping two into my hand before downing them with black coffee that is strong enough to keep me conscious until I crawl into bed again that night – and don't sleep a wink once again despite being so tired that I can feel it deep in my bones.

The pills are to cure the 'insomnia', the 'depression', the 'anxiety' that I've suffered from for the past 9 years. Two pills in the morning to keep me a functioning member of society – yeah, right. If only it was that easy. What they refer to as my 'mental illness', I refer to as 'too many unanswered questions' or 'too many loose ends', or – my personal favourite – 'so many regrets that I'm not sure I even want to exist on this planet anymore'. Instead, I get up and I take my damn pills and I keep on living a life that feels like a half-life. An existence that I don't want but that I don't have the guts to take away. Not like someone I used to know.

Hannah Baker.

The girl who broke my heart when she took it with her to her grave. A grave that I never saw, a grave that no one knew the location of. All I knew was that my heart was buried alongside her in the cold ground.

I guess I've never really got over the loss of Hannah. I've been single for most of the nine years that she's been gone. _Wow, nine years._ Sure, I've dated here and there, I've had one night stands, but they've always ended. Usually because the girl suspects there's 'someone else'. They're right – there is. But what they don't know is that the 'someone else' has been dead for almost a decade, probably unrecognisable in her grave by now. No longer the flawless girl I pined after for the last two years of her life, too gutless to make a move. A mistake that inevitably cost her life, and my one chance at a happily ever after.

I still remember the day I first heard the rumours. I was standing at my locker, actually glancing over at Hannah's locker, when I heard sobbing. Then hushed voices. Slowly but surely the words trickled in my direction 'Hannah Baker', 'ambulance', 'suicide'. A couple of days later you were apparently buried in your old town, but no one ever found out for sure. In fact, we never saw your parents again. Within a fortnight your house was packed up by movers, your parents shop was sold – any trace of you just vanished without a trace. That is, until the tapes made the rounds. _Oh Hannah, I am so sorry. I'm so sorry that I was weak. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you._

I've been taking the pills ever since exactly a fortnight after her death, I had a mental break in the gymnasium. Everyone says I was hallucinating but she was _right there_ , right in front of me, bleeding out all over the floor. The only problem was that no one else saw her. They called me crazy, crazy with grief, and said that the pills would keep the hallucinations at bay.

The next time I saw Hannah, I knew to keep it to myself. And the time after that. I feel as though she's never really left me. I see her often, although it is growing less and less as times goes by. Sometimes her hair will be long, the way I like to remember her, and other times it's short, like it was at the end. Sometimes she's smiling, laughing. Sometimes she's screaming as she bleeds from her wrists onto whatever surface we're standing on, screaming for me to help her – it takes me days to recover from seeing her like that. Sometimes she speaks, but not very often, and when she does it's not _her_ voice. I don't remember her voice very well anymore. For the first year after her death, I would call her cell phone repeatedly just to hear the recorded message click over in her voice, _'Hey, it's Hannah, leave a message.'_

After a year her cell phone number was reassigned and the man, Barry, kindly asked me to stop calling him.

And I can't listen to the tapes anymore. I never want to hear them again. So I haven't heard her voice in eight years, and it's a very vague memory that I have of it. Like a photo that's been handled so many times that it's fading in certain places, the image distorting ever so slightly.

When I graduated from Liberty High, I cut contact with everyone except for Tony. I had absolutely no direction for my life, and no motivation to find it either, so I decided to follow someone else's dreams. I moved to New York and went to Law School. Okay, so maybe Hannah didn't want to be a lawyer. I actually don't know what she wanted to be when she grew up. I guess I figured I'd eventually find out – I never for one second thought she _wouldn't_ grow up. All I know is that she'd wanted to move to New York, and my mom was pushing for another lawyer in the family. What's that old saying? Two birds, one stone.

There's a lot I never got to learn about Hannah. I don't know what her middle name was. I don't know what her favourite colour was, or her favourite song. I don't know so many things, because I should have had forever to find them out.

I shake my head, clearing away the cobwebs. Enough dwelling. Enough.

Another coffee, triple shot. Car keys.

Put on a smile. Always smile. People ask less questions when you look like you're enjoying life.

One foot in front of the other. Keep moving.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a rough couple of weeks.

I find myself staring at my reflection more and more often, willing myself to go on. Go on doing what though? Living, I suppose. It's all just a blur really anyway.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

My doctor decided that the cocktail of pills I'm on right now isn't doing the trick anymore, and maybe never quite did do the trick for me. Apparently my lack of coping has been becoming increasingly more obvious over the years, despite many skipped appointments to try and avoid answering the questions.

Wonderful to find out that after 9 years of thinking I was barely hanging on that I was apparently never really hanging on anyway. Something about a chemical imbalance or whatever she went on about for way too long. My focus was on a chip in the wall above her head and I couldn't hear a single word she said after I noticed that little flaw in the paintwork.

She made me sign a declaration that I would have someone with me 24/7 for the first 72 hours, just in case I try to harm myself.

Sure, of course. Whatever you say, Doc.

 _No fucking way._

So now I'm not only dealing with the withdrawals from coming off my old pills, I'm also dealing with all the side effects of my new ones. Oh joy. The night sweats are my absolute favourite. Oh, wait. No. The constant trembling is pretty fucking amazing too.

For about a week now my diet has consisted almost entirely of black coffee. Black coffee and the occasional cigarette to stop the trembling in my hands. I don't even smoke usually, but I do this week – something to do I suppose. I have no appetite or desire to try and force anything solid into my stomach. If I could work out a way to get coffee through an IV you better believe I'd do it.

I have the occasional whiskey or bourbon to take the edge off too, but not beer. Never beer.

Beer tastes like regret and broken promises. It reminds me too much of the way Hannah's mouth tasted the only time I got to kiss her.

Beer is one of those things that my psychiatrist thinks I should stay away from. She calls it a 'trigger'. Add to that list tootsie rolls, skittles, the smell of the disinfectant the janitor used to clean the school hallways, the smell of popcorn and anything vanilla (because Hannah always smelled like vanilla). Experiencing any of these can _trigger_ an episode. Trigger, really? Like on a gun? What a load of shit.

On the other hand though, I haven't been able to step foot inside a movie theatre – or a gymnasium - in almost a decade so maybe she is on to something.

I don't sleep for the entire week. Not at all. I don't even go to bed. I find myself just staring into space for hours at a time, my head full of dark thoughts I usually work hard to keep at bay.

My work is slowly slipping. It's been a downward spiral for the past few months but it's gaining momentum and I'm just barely hanging on to my job. Not that I really care anyway, but I need the job to pay for the apartment that provides me the only independence I have in my life.

I have a constant throbbing behind my left eyebrow that is my sole focus for almost three days.

Everything is just turning to shit.

Plus I'm almost certain that I'm heading for a total breakdown because today I saw Hannah.

I saw Hannah Baker.

Not as 17 year old Hannah either – I saw her as she would be now, if she hadn't died. A few years older but almost exactly the same as I remember. But it couldn't be. Hannah died. _She died._

 _Get your shit together, man._

It's the only time I've seen her as an older version of herself. Sure I've thought of what she might look like now if things had been differently but all the times I've seen her are the way she was in the few months before she took her life.

She wasn't bleeding like last time either, and she wasn't looking directly into my soul like she normally does.

She was crossing the street right in front of my car and as quickly as she was there, she was gone again. Not vanished into thin air like she typically does, but she disappeared into a crowd of people at the end of the pedestrian crossing and disappeared.

I dove out of my car but was quickly jolted back into reality by the insistent beeping of the cars behind me because the traffic lights had changed and I was holding up traffic.

By the time I got home I'd convinced myself that I was having a breakdown, or that it wasn't even Hannah – just a look-a-like - anyway which also meant that I was having a breakdown so lose-lose for Clay Jensen.

Why, after nine years, am I finally really losing the plot?

Why now?

The constant battle in my head ensues and I allow it. I allow it because I don't have the energy to stop it.

 _Because she's been dead for almost a decade._

 _Because you miss her so much that it's consuming you._

 _Because she isn't coming back._

 _Because she's gone._

 _BECAUSE YOU KILLED HER._


	3. Chapter 3

My boss insists I take my accrued annual leave in one bulk period of three weeks off. Three weeks to get my shit together and come back to a job, or don't bother coming back at all was the gist of the agreement.

I'm not sure which is worse if I'm completely honest with myself.

Getting my shit together would mean moving on. Moving on means that I would have to forget about Hannah. Without her, without my grief and regrets… my heartbreak, I'm not me. Without her, I have nothing left to hold on to.

I spend my free days on the computer.

Although I don't keep in touch with anyone from Liberty High, aside from Tony who I see once or twice a year, I am still part of the Facebook groups. I never attend any of the reunions or reply to any messages. I just like to access the numerous photos that have been uploaded from my time at the school.

I lose entire days trawling these pages looking at the photos.

Photos that bring my memories of Hannah to life for the time I spend staring at them until my eyes water and I'm forced to blink again. It's like I'm scared that if I look away then she'll disappear again. Stupid really because how can someone disappear from a _photo?_

 _Jesus Christ, what am I becoming?_

In the photos from the freshman year she looks so happy. Her smile bright, her eyes full of life. Photos that make my heart clench in on itself like it's trapped in a vice. My God. It hurts _so_ much.

A candid photo of Hannah and I chatting as we walk together causes a sob to erupt from deep within my chest. I haven't seen this picture since I asked Tyler to delete it 9 years ago. I'm glad he didn't, and I quickly save it to my hard drive so I can keep it.

For the first time ever I realise there were signs that I was too blind to see at the time.

Start of Sophomore year her hair is short, but that's not the only change in her appearance. Her wardrobe now seems to consist of dark colours, sombre prints. Not the bright clothes she used to wear in freshman year. Sure, it could be a coincidence but I doubt it.

Her smile now seems forced.

Her eyes don't twinkle. They seem dead. She looks like she's already given up, and I'm sure that's actually the case because the photo I'm currently looking at is dated only 3 days before she slit her wrists open. It could well be the last photo ever taken of Hannah.

It's like I'm looking at my own reflection.

Dead eyes, half smile as Tony affectionately refers to the way I look whenever I've seen him.

The appearance that makes my mom fret and my dad lecture me about taking better care of myself.

 _Did anyone joke about your dead eyes and forced smile, Hannah? Did anyone even notice? Because I didn't._

I briefly consider whether the tablets I have in my possession are enough to kill me.

The thought is fleeting but very real for the time it spends in my head.

While I do have enough pills, I don't have enough bravery to finish it. I'll be a gutless loser til the very end of my, hopefully not very long, natural life time.

It's almost exactly a week into my forced break that I'm wandering aimlessly around the supermarket. Not even sure why I'm here, I take a cart and start loading it with different items that will take up residence in my fridge until they expire and are evicted to the trash.

My weight has been plummeting over the last few weeks which I'm blaming on my tablets to anyone who asks, but that I know is really because I can't remember the last time I ate.

Even pizza doesn't seem appetising anymore, and it was once a staple in my diet.

I need to start actually eating, and probably sleeping too, but let's just take this one step at a time.

Maybe if I start eating then I won't look like a dead guy walking. Maybe I can keep up at work and keep my job. Maybe if I start looking after myself somewhat then I won't have to leave Hannah in my past in order to _get my shit together._

I'm counting apples, that I will try and probably fail to eat, into a bag when something catches my attention. Opposite where I'm standing, across the fruit cart, is a woman with dark, wavy hair flowing over her shoulders. Hair that reminds me so much of Hannah's that I momentarily forget to breathe. It's as my vision blurs, and at the same time she turns and walks away, that I start gasping air into my burning lungs.

I drop the apples, sending them scattering in all directions.

I abandon my cart and I run.

I can't lose her a second time.

But I'm too late. Just moments too late once again.

She's gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Now that I think I've seen Hannah in the flesh, alive and breathing, I look for her everywhere. I'm spending more time outside of my apartment than I have in at least the past five years, just so that I might have a chance of glimpsing her again. Only this time I know I won't let her go again. The next time I see her, I'll get her to speak to me somehow. It's so strange to see her and not have her trying to get my sole attention – she's always been right there in front of me. It's a bizarre feeling to actually be excited about leaving the security and solitude of my apartment.

I've finally adjusted to my new medication so I'm spending far less time spacing out like someone who has smoked way too much weed. I hate to think how I was perceived by other people for a few weeks there.

I'm starting to look after myself, or trying to anyway. Even if it is only because my mom is insisting on a visit in a few weeks so make sure that I'm 'doing okay'. We both know I'm not but I suppose it's nice that she cares. I need to get it together before she comes though – last time I saw her and dad I was a wreck, I'm sure I contributed more than a few grey hairs to my poor mom, but this time I've let myself slip even deeper down into the dark abyss of my depression.

I'm sleeping, a little. Even if it is only for 3 – 4 hours at a time, it's a hell of a lot better than going for 3 – 4 days without any sleep. The dreams are the absolute worst though. Some part of my subconscious seems convinced that Hannah is alive somehow so my dreams are obviously reflecting just that. I wake up expecting her to be _there_ and she never is. It feels like a candle having its flame being snuffed out. She's _right there_ and then just as quickly she's _gone._

I'm eating a little too, if pizza and Chinese takeout count as food. But I bought a cook book, and I'll actually attempt to learn how to use my kitchen, even if it's only for the purpose of cooking for mom while she's here. I may even spill something in my microwave so it looks like it's been used, rather than standing brand new in my kitchen for the past few years.

 _My life is a fucking joke._

I wonder if my life would be this much of a joke if Hannah had lived? I wonder if we'd have ever ended up together. I like to think so, but how can I ever know for sure? I'll add it to the list of questions that I'll never have answers to. I wonder where I'd be right now if she was alive. If she'd lived but we hadn't ended up together, would I be this much of a loser? Probably. At least if she was alive though, I'd be able to stalk her social media pages to feel insanely jealous of which lucky guy got to call her his girlfriend, his fiancé or his wife.

Now though, her social media pages stay untouched. Frozen in time. Unchanging.

Her profile picture showing a 17 year old Hannah Baker with her hair long, her smile bright and a long future ahead of her. How much can change in only a few months. If only we'd known then that her bright future was going to be cut tragically short. Literally by the razor blade held in her own hand.

It seems that a lot of people have unfriended her too, as I scroll through her friends list. I'm the only person who was on the tapes who has remained her friend. I guess even in death they don't want to be her friend.

No one has posted how much they miss her in a long time. The last post dates back six years, from her best friend Kat, telling her that she misses her all the time. I guess even her best friend moved on eventually.

 _Why can't I?_

 _Why am I stuck here loving the dead girl?_

 _Why didn't I love her enough when she was alive?_

 _Why didn't I tell her when I had the chance?_


	5. Chapter 5

Several days of semi-normal sleeping and eating later, and I'm starting to function a little better. I'm still living off a lot of coffee but my hands are shaking less, and I'm waking up more refreshed than well, the night before Hannah died I suppose.

I wonder if she would have done what she did, knowing the drastic impact it would have on my life all these years later?

 _You thought no one cared enough, Hannah._

 _You have no idea the impact you've had on me, and my entire life._

 _I still miss you._

I've had the picture of Hannah and I framed, and it sits on my bedside table. Her smiling face is the last thing I look at before I sleep, and when I wake up she's still there. I realise that in the photo I look genuinely happy, something that I haven't felt in years. It's my new favourite possession; something I will treasure for the rest of my days. If there was a fire and I had to save one possession – you've all played this game – I know I'd be grabbing that photo first.

I'm slowly cleaning up my life too, figuratively and literally. I've thrown away the last of the cigarettes I had. I've hired someone to clean my apartment once a week, because my mom was right when she said I didn't know how to clean. I don't really, and it's not something I really want to learn at 26 either. Not that I'm living in filth either.

I've been granted an additional week off from work, and my boss is relieved to hear that I'm doing better. Yes; my work was slipping, but I'm a damn good lawyer and he knows it. I'd be hard to replace.

By some coincidence I'm not even out looking for Hannah when I think I see her again. Same hair, same height, similar sense of fashion as she had in high school.

 _It's her! It has to be!_

I stride forward and reach for the woman's arm. I'm _so_ close!

I don't even know what I'll say, what I'll do.

What do you say to someone who is supposed to be dead?

She turns at the same moment I reach for her.

My heart drops into my stomach.

Wrong face.

It's not Hannah after all.

I apologise, stuttering and trying not to cry, before I go home to sob into my pillow. My heart shattering all over again. Why did I allow myself to get so hopeful?

 _You know she's dead, man. Lock it up!_

What is wrong with me that I can't move on?

I log into my tinder account that night, after ignoring it for several months. I haven't been laid in the longest time – maybe that's my problem. Maybe I just need to go and play the field a bit, have some fun and meet the right person. Maybe that's all I need to do. An easy fix?

I scroll through the photos, determined to find someone as far from Hannah in appearance as possible.

Blonde or red hair? Tick.

Short hair? Tick again.

Eyes that aren't blue? Yep. Another tick.

You'd be surprised how narrow the field gets when you have all these requirements in place. I've said Hannah's name in bed too many times to another woman, I'm not risking that humiliation again. I still remember the only girl who asked me who Hannah was and the look on her face when I was honest. I never heard from her again, or any of the others. Not surprising really, it's got to be a bit of a bruise to the ego when the man you're in bed with says the name of his dead crush.

I get chatting to a girl called Molly who, with her cropped blonde hair and dark brown eyes, looks as far from Hannah as I can possibly find while still being reasonably attractive.

She seems sweet, can hold a conversation and is eager to meet – sooner rather than later which might put some people off, but I'm after a quick fix to my broken heart.

We organise to go for drinks a couple of nights later at a local bar.

I find myself feeling increasingly anxious about the date.

 _Breathe. Just don't fuck it up._


	6. Chapter 6

The night of my date with Molly rolls around, and I find myself thinking through a half dozen different reasons why I should cancel. I'm careful not to allow the voice in my head to control my actions. I'm better than that. I will go on this date, even if it makes me sick with anxiety, because I will _not_ live out the rest of my life as a single man, haunted by the ghost of a _could have been_.

I put effort into my appearance, but I'm careful not to try too hard. I settle for nice dark wash jeans and a light grey shirt, which yes I do actually iron. Shock horror, I know. But, I look good. I look a hell of a lot more put together and self-assured than I feel. Probably a good thing at this point.

Keys, phone, wallet.

Check, check and check.

 _You can do this._

I listen to the radio as I drive over – something I don't do very often – and the song that plays over the speakers throws me for a moment. The lyrics sending chills down my spine. I actually have to pull the car over to pull it together. I haven't heard this song in seven years but it shatters my heart the same way it did the last time I listened to it. I still have it on a cassette tape, buried in a box in my wardrobe for safe keeping.

 _"I had all and then most of you  
Some and now none of you  
Take me back to the night we met  
I don't know what I'm supposed to do  
Haunted by the ghost of you  
Oh, take me back to the night we met"_

The lyrics are so chilling, and scarily accurate to my entire life.

 _I am haunted by the ghost of you, Hannah, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do._

I press my fingers into the bridge of my nose, hard, to stop myself from breaking down.

The first time I heard that song I was holding Hannah in my arms.

 _Oh Hannah. What I wouldn't give to go back to the first time I met you._

 _But you're gone, and I need to leave you in your grave._

The bar we're meeting at is on the edge of town. A hole in the wall type of place that not many people frequent, perfect for a first date because it won't be too crowded but at the same time there will be just enough background noise to ease up any awkward moments.

I see her before she sees me and take a moment to just _breathe._

"Hi, you must be Molly," I approach cautiously with a smile and hold out my hand. It's been so long since I've done this, can she sense how awkward I feel?

Her smile is eager as she pulls me into an unexpected hug, and I do my best not to freeze.

"Lovely to finally meet you, Clay!"

 _Finally?_ We've been talking for like, three days.

We head inside and choose a table near the bar – I'm careful to avoid the booths. Booths are too intimate for a first date. Or any date really when your heart isn't quite in it.

Molly insists on buying the first round which I protest because isn't it my job to buy her drinks?

I feel slightly less tense after I've had a drink, but I'm really counting down until I can make an exit. I don't want to be here. _Why am I here?_

She's a nice girl, but the way she's throwing herself all over me is slightly off-putting. Most guys would go with it as an easy way to get laid but I would feel bad taking advantage of this girl who seems to be hearing wedding bells already. She's already asked if I want children!

I quickly excuse myself from that terrifying conversation by suggesting I get us another drink. Perfect timing for a refill, or ten. I'm not really sure of first date etiquette, but I'm guessing it's probably not socially acceptable to get drunk right now.

I wander over to the bar, reach into my pocket for my wallet and glance up at the girl at the bar.

It takes me a second to realise that she is achingly familiar.

I watch as she pours a drink and hands it to another customer, before turning to serve me.

My eyes meet stormy blue eyes.

Eyes that I have seen a million times before.

Eyes that have haunted me for nearly a decade.

I'm unable to form words – she can't be here right now.

And _someone else saw her! She served someone!_

 _Is this real, or am I losing it?_

I can feel my voice cracking as I croak out a single word, "… Hannah?"

Her face pales almost immediately as recognition flashes in her eyes and she takes a few steps back, like she's afraid of me.

Then she runs, her hair flowing out behind her.

I'm frozen to the spot, unable to move. I can't speak. All I can hear is a buzzing in my ears and I feel like I'm going to pass out.

 _What the fuck just happened?_

 _Is Hannah Baker alive?_


	7. Chapter 7

I don't know how much time passed between the girl running and me standing, frozen to the spot, staring after her. It could have been seconds but it felt much longer, but I was unable to move, to think. Everything around me ceased to exist, and I was aware only of her. Or rather, of the absence that she'd left behind when she'd fled.

I was vaguely aware of the scent of vanilla that had drifted towards me as she'd bolted.

I had a hand pressed to my chest, trying to hold together my heart that felt like it was shattering for the millionth time over the same girl. How many times did I have to watch this girl leave my life? Was _this girl_ even Hannah?

 _What the hell was going on?_

I felt sick and dizzy, my hand clutching the edge of the bar for support. It was also keeping me grounded; buoying me.

 _Pull it together, man._

I shook my head slowly; escaping the vanilla scented bubble I'd encased myself in, bringing the rest of the room into focus.

I swallowed, hard, forcing down the lump that had been suffocating me.

 _You're okay. It's okay._

"What can I get you?" Another bartender had approached my section of the bar and was staring expectantly at me. I wondered if he'd asked the question before, because he was looking concerned.

I coughed to try and clear my throat so that I could speak.

"That girl who was here before, what's her name?"

The man turned but failing to see who I was talking about turned back. "Dark hair?"

I nodded.

"That's Hannah. Nice girl, quiet."

I felt a wave of queasiness hit me with such force that it's a miracle I made it outside before vomiting into the curb. Over and over. And when there was nothing left to throw up I still couldn't stop the violent retching.

I'd completely forgotten about my date, who I'd left sitting at a table waiting for the drinks I was supposed to bring back.

Hell, if you'd asked me my middle name I doubt I would have been able to answer you.

I have no memory of getting home.

I remember taking more than triple the prescribed dose of sleeping tablets to turn my brain off. I needed to escape for a while because my mind was working in such overdrive that I wasn't sure I could cope anymore.

I needed sleep to give me more of a chance of figuring out what the fuck had just happened.

So, I knocked myself out.

After a decent amount of sleep, and a lot of coffee plus my pills, I felt able to handle whatever had occurred. I wasn't sure what I was dealing with, but there was no way I was going to let it go without figuring it out.

 _Start with what you know already._

 _Okay._

 _Hannah died when she was 17._

 _She killed herself by slitting her wrists open in the bath, and bled to death._

 _Breathe._

 _Hannah's funeral and burial were held out of town._

 _No one knew where she was buried._

 _No one saw her parents again after she died._

 _Hannah was at the bar? How?_

I looked down at the notepad in front of me, where I'd messily scrawled a timeline of events.

I considered the vague possibility of the girl from the bar not really being Hannah, but it all added up to it being her. The name, her eyes, her hair. It just didn't make sense that it could be anyone else. Even though Hannah was supposed to be dead.

 _What if she didn't die?_

I'd never seen her grave. I didn't attend her funeral.

 _Was it possible that she wasn't dead?_

I needed to go back to the bar. I needed answers to some pretty heavy questions, and the only person who could give me the answers was whoever that girl was. Hannah Baker – or not – she was the only one who provide any reassurance to the fact that I felt like admitting myself into the nearest psych hospital.

I wondered whether I should call Tony, before deciding against it. He'd think I was crazy. He'd grieved Hannah for a long time – it wasn't fair to bring up any of this until I knew for sure.

Checking my phone for the first time since last night I found a number of angry messages from Molly, along with a dozen missed calls.

 _Oops._

I deleted her number. I had no time for anything other than figuring out whether I was completely crazy or not. She'd meet someone better suited to her than me.

Despite wanting to head straight out to the bar, I quickly showered and put on a fresh change of clothes. I needed to look like someone who had their life together, not like someone who was falling apart.

Then I headed out, with the weight of a million unanswered questions on my shoulders.


	8. Chapter 8

I stop just inside the doors, adjusting to the dim lighting and the smell of stale beer that seems so prevalent in bars.

I'm not going to rush into this; I'm not going to make any rash decisions.

 _Breathe in, and out. In and out._

I'm aware of the distant feeling of a panic attack starting to creep in, but I push it away. I will _not_ let my anxiety ruin this moment, not after 9 years of hoping and wondering.

After glancing at the bar and not seeing her, I order a bourbon and coke. Just to take the edge off.

I find a table that has a view to almost all of the premises and sit, taking small gulps of my drink and wondering if maybe I should've ordered two because this one is disappearing quite quickly.

I wipe the sweat from my palms on to my jeans.

I don't see her, but I have only been here a few minutes, and I am prepared to wait it out.

 _What's a few hours of waiting after almost a decade?_

I can't help but feel that maybe I'm setting myself up for a massive fall? What if this is all just a coincidence and Hannah is still dead? What will I have left then? A song on a cassette tape and a few photos?

 _No. I'll have my memories. I'll remember how she felt in my arms. I'll remember the way her smile could light up a room. I'll remember the smell of her hair as we slow danced. I'll remember the way that burnt popcorn could only smell good on her. I'll remember her and that way she'll never, ever leave me for good._

I lose myself in my thoughts for several long minutes, absentmindedly draining the last of my drink.

 _How did I wind up being the single loser, chasing after a dead girl?_

I can't help but wonder how my life wound up being so sad.

I'm just about to stand up and get another bourbon when I notice another girl arrive at the bar.

 _It's her._

I freeze in my chair and spend a few moments looking at her. Just in case it's not really her, and last night I was just drunk or out of my mind.

 _But it HAS to be her._

The same curly hair that I used to want to run my fingers through is pulled up into a ponytail.

Her face has changed in the past 9 years, but not very much – just the slightest hint of aging. She looks as beautiful as she did at seventeen.

She's not smiling though, and even from where I'm sitting I can tell she's tired.

From where I'm sitting, I can see that she's very much _real._ And very much _alive._

I'm almost rendered speechless by the overwhelming feelings flooding through me.

It makes no sense, but all I know is that a living, breathing Hannah Baker is standing in my line of sight. I'm overcome by the urge to hug her. I _need_ to hold her. I _need_ to hear her voice.

Most of all though, I _need_ answers.

I wait until she's standing alone, with no customers to serve, before I make my way over to the bar.

She sees me as I'm about a metre away and pales again, but she doesn't run.

I'm cautious, aware that at any moment she could bolt.

"Hannah?" My voice sounds broken, not the togetherness I wanted to portray at all.

Her eyes well with tears and I find myself looking into blue watery orbs.

"Cl.. Clay." Her voice is as broken as mine, and a tear rolls its way down her cheek.

Her voice brings back so many memories. It's the most perfect voice.

 _God, I missed it._

I gulp down the lump in my throat, "You're alive?"

More tears escape and she hastily wipes them away with shaky hands, before nodding.

"But you died?"

She shakes her head, taking a moment to compose herself.

"No, I didn't. I tried to, but I'm still here."

 _Hannah's alive. She's alive!_

"What?" My mind unfortunately isn't working very fast and I'm struggling to comprehend what I'm hearing. I pinch myself hard enough to leave a mark, just in case I'm dreaming.

She looks around, probably for customers, and then her eyes are on me again.

"I think we should talk, but not here. Can we meet later? After I finish here?"

I nod, still unable to form a coherent sentence, or even a word at all.

She scrawls something on to a napkin on the bar before sliding it over to me.

An address and a phone number.

"I finish at 7, that's my address. Do want to come to me, or we can meet somewhere public if you'd prefer?"

I swallow, struggling to believe this is happening.

"I can come to you."

She makes an attempt to smile but I watch her lips tremble. "I'll be home by 8."

"I'll see you then."

I shove the napkin into my pocket and turn to leave, feeling like my body is slowly shutting itself down, which maybe it is.

Nine years of grieving the death of the girl who never actually died.

 _My psych would have a field day with this!_

"Clay?"

I turn back to the bar.

"It's really good to see you, Helmet."

I attempt a smile that's probably just as shaky. "It's good to see you too, Hannah."


	9. Chapter 9

To say that I'm nervous would be an understatement of epic proportions. I'm a _mess._ But for the first time in so, _so_ many years, I feel like the universe is giving me a second chance. I feel like maybe, just maybe, I will be okay after all. I'll be able to get off my meds, and live a normal life, like _normal_ people.

Okay, so maybe I'm getting slightly ahead of myself, but I can't help feeling _good._ Nervous but _good._

I choke down my dinner of leftover pizza, because I need something in my stomach. What is it Tony's mom used to say? Food first, and then we do everything else. Thank you, Mrs Padilla. I must make an effort to go and visit her and Tony soon, even if it's just for the home cooking and the slightly too honest and blunt advice about my life.

Maybe Hannah will come with me – Tony would love to see her.

 _Woah, way too ahead of yourself there._

I shower and brush my teeth, because it's a way to kill time, before styling my hair in a way that definitely will not inspire my nickname – Helmet.

I spend way too long deciding on what to wear because what do you wear when you're going to house of the girl you love who is supposed to be dead, but apparently never died? I'm sure there's no hard and fast outfit rule there, so I decide on nice jeans and a plain button up – not too dissimilar to what I wore at that party. I am careful not to overdo it on the cologne though.

 _I look good. I feel pretty good. I think I'm ready._

It's at exactly 7.59pm that I am standing outside the door to Hannah's apartment. It's in a nice building in one of the safer areas in town, only a ten minute drive from my own building.

 _I've been living ten minutes from Hannah Baker, for how freaking long? What are the odds?_

I take a deep breath and reach up to knock.

The door is opened almost instantly, like she'd been standing right inside waiting for me to knock.

Hannah looks much more put together than she did at the bar; she looks freshly showered and her hair is now loose around her shoulders - the way she wore it most of the time in school. The smudged make up around her eyes has been wiped clean. She looks _incredible_.

"Hey Helmet," her voice breaks me out of my trance, and her accompanying smile is much more confident now, like being in her own environment has made her feel more secure.

I, on the other hand, am so anxious about this meeting – of somehow screwing it up, like I've managed to do with everything else in my life.

But I smile too, because how could I not? Hannah is here. She's _alive,_ and this feels like a second chance that I never, ever thought I'd get.

"Hey Hannah."

She ushers me in and I take a moment to look around. It's comfortable and homely, but eclectic and unique. It's just what I'd imagined her apartment to look like.

"Can I get you a drink?" She offers as I sit on the plush couch in the living room.

"Uh sure, water please?"

She laughs, a light breathy sound that _my God I missed so freaking much_.

"I think we might need something a little stronger than water for this, Helmet. I have beer or wine?"

I laugh too, because of course she's right.

"Wine's good, thanks. Can I give you a hand?"

She shakes her head and disappears, presumably to the kitchen.

"I'm not really sure where to even start, you know," Hannah says softly as she returns with two glasses of wine, handing one to me.

I take a sip, that turns into more of a gulp, and look up at her.

"I thought you were dead."

She nods, "That was the point. A fresh start with none of the bullshit following me around. It was my parent's idea."

"You just left?"

"Clay, I wanted to die, and sometimes I wish I had! When they released me from hospital, we moved here. My mom home-schooled me. I saw a therapist a few times a week. We let everyone from that town think I was dead so that I could move on."

I nod, unable to speak. This got heavy really quickly.

Another gulp. Liquid courage.

"I never stopped missing you, Hannah. I never got over you dying."

She laughs, a small sound of disbelief. "Everyone got over it, Clay. I still check my Facebook page every now and then, people stopped caring once the next exciting thing happened."

I look up at her in horror. _How can she not understand what this has done to me?_

"Hannah, believe me please. Your death was the _worst_ thing that ever happened to me! It ruined my life!"

She raises an eyebrow at me, considering what I've said.

"What do you mean?" Her voice is softer, lacking the defensive tone that was present earlier.

I shake my head – where do I even start?

I drain the last of my glass, and she instantly reaches over to refill it. She's almost finished her second glass, maybe drawing strength from the alcohol like I am.

"I don't know where to start, Han."

I'm aware that at any moment I could cry, but I sip my wine and keep staring at my hands.

"From the beginning?"

I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what I'm about to say, but I promised that I would be honest. Holding back was what cost me a chance with her from the start, I will _not_ blow this. Not again.

"When you died, it felt like my whole world was in black and white… like all the colour was gone. I spent nine years blaming myself for what you did, thinking that you died because I was afraid to love you the way I wanted to." I pause to swallow the lump in my throat. "Graduating from Liberty was such a relief, to get away from all those people and all the bullshit. God, Hannah, I moved to New York because I'd lost the motivation for my own life, but I knew you wanted to move here so I did it for you! I followed your dream."

She's in shock; her eyes wide and full of tears that are slowly escaping to roll down her cheeks.

"I've been mostly single for nine years because not a single girl I've met ever measured up to half the person you were… are, I mean. It's hard to speak like you're here, after so long thinking you weren't."

 _Now I'm rambling - great._

Her voice is soft when she speaks, delicate like at any moment it might crack and break away into nothing.

"I wanted to get in touch so many times, Clay. But I figured you were better off without me."

I take a moment to think of how differently my life could have been had she reached out years ago.

"That's so far from the truth, you need to believe that Hannah. I've never stopped missing you."

She smiles, but it's sad. Her eyes aren't sparkling anymore; they're full of regret and pain.

"Why did you run when I saw you yesterday?"

She shrugs, wiping at a stray tear, "I don't know. I panicked, I guess. I was hoping you'd come back, and I'm so glad you did."

"Me too. It's really, really good to see you. I hope you know how much I mean that."

She smiles again, this time a genuine one, "I do, I believe you."

She's shifted slightly closer to me, and I _need_ to hold her.

"Can I hug you?"

"Yes please."

I slide across and hesitantly reach out, afraid that I may break her, but she pulls me closer to her. I breathe in the scent of her shampoo and perfume, and feel my heart piecing itself back together. I feel whole again. Both halves of my heart back together. She nuzzles her face into the crook of my neck and I feel her body relax and grow heavy in my arms. I could stay like this _forever._

 _Please don't let this be a dream. Don't let me wake up._

Eventually she pulls away, a soft flush to her cheeks. But she looks happy.

I know I'm smiling from ear to ear too.

"What have you been up to for the last nine years, Helmet? Tell me everything!"

We talk about law school, and why I decided to become a lawyer. My job. We talk about my meds and the therapist, because I decided to be completely 100% honest with her, and she doesn't run. Her hand finds mine through the hard to talk about bits, which makes it slightly easier to discuss. We talk about my failed relationships, my parents, Tony. She tells me about her job at the bar, her parents, how she's studying to be a school teacher/counsellor ("Because the person who could have saved me, let me down.") and I admire her strength and dedication. We talk about everything that's happened to either of us in the almost decade since we last spoke. There are tears. We laugh together. And for the first time in nine years, I feel _happy_. Weightless. I feel free from the grief that has tormented me endlessly. I feel like _me_ again.


	10. Chapter 10

When I finally left Hannah's at around 4am that morning, I felt a sense of euphoria. I felt completely weightless. It was a better high than I'd experienced with any of the drugs I'd experimented with during the final years of high school to help me get through it all.

There were two things I hadn't gotten answers to though, and I wasn't sure how to bring them up. The first was whether or not Hannah was single. She hadn't mentioned a boyfriend, but that really didn't mean much. She's a gorgeous, like _stunning,_ smart, funny, young girl in New York. She had the world at her feet, so there was a very high chance that some lucky guy had already snapped her up. I needed to find out before I embarrassed myself.

The other was that I wanted to know about her suicide attempt. I'd been haunted for years wondering how she'd done it, whether she'd taken pills, or hung herself. I'd had a million nightmares about finding her hanging from a tree, or bleeding out, or dead from an overdose. I needed to know so that I could close that chapter in my past and leave it there, where it belonged. I wasn't sure whether she'd want to relive it by talking about it. I didn't want to hurt her. And she hadn't volunteered the information, either.

Sitting in her living room, sharing a bottle of wine, and talking with her… it felt like no time at all had passed. I felt myself fall for her all over again. I'd wanted nothing more than to kiss her, but I didn't want to overstep the mark. I didn't want to rush into anything. Part of me was still scared that we'd recreate that scene in Jessica Davis's room, where it would all be okay one moment and then she'd be screaming at me to leave her alone. I know why she did that, and I _understand_ but it's still something I fear deep down.

When I'd left we hadn't made any definite plans to see each other again, but I found myself missing her immensely the second the door to her apartment had closed. Again, though, I didn't want to rush anything… I wanted to give her the space she needed, if she needed it, to come to terms with everything that had transpired that night. She had my number, and I had hers, so I knew that we'd speak when she was ready. This time it was on her terms. Whatever she needed, I'd be there to give to her.

I woke up the next morning, well almost afternoon by the time I properly surfaced, feeling like I'd had the most amazing dream. Then I realised….wait, not a dream! It was the first morning in I don't even know how long that I felt excited to start the day. Almost like my life was really beginning for the first time.

I had to fight the urge to call Hannah and ask to see her again. I wanted to see her as much as possible before I started back at work in a week's time, where my days would be filled with meetings and court hearings, and nights would often involve working from home. I could prioritise my work load, I knew that, but I'd never really had reason to do that before so it would be an adjustment.

My phone chimed as I was getting out of the shower, and I hoped against hope that it was Hannah.

 **Hannah: Hey Helmet, what are you up to today?**

I smiled, feeling a fluttering in my chest. This must be what love feels like, when it's not tainted with grief.

 **Clay: Not much, just have a few errands to run. What about you?**

 **Hannah: Day off, just tidied up at home. Come over later?**

 **Clay: Actually, do you want to come to mine? We can order take out?**

 **Hannah: I'd love to see the apartment of Clay Jensen. What time?**

I text her to come by any time this afternoon, and give her my address.

Then, I glance around.

 _Shit._

While I'm not fazed by living the way I do and it's by no means filthy, I certainly know that it's in no way at all going to impress the likes of Hannah Baker, whose apartment was practically spotless.

 _Fuck._

I don't even know where to start.

I have a few hours, but I don't even know _how_ to clean.

So, I do what any man in my situation would do… and I call in a cleaning service. They assure me that they can get the entire apartment clean in less than 2 hours, and that they can arrive within the next half hour. _Perfect._

I leave the cleaners in the apartment, and head out to run some errands; drop off some dry cleaning, head to the supermarket, the usual. I add a couple of bottles of wine to my cart, and a bunch of flowers (no roses, because Hannah thinks they are tacky). I still need to find out if she's single, but friends can give friends flowers, right?

I don't even recognise my apartment when I walk in; it's spotless. It even smells clean. Not that it smelled dirty or anything, but the smell of cleaning products is foreign, in a good way. I tip the cleaners for an exceptional job, and book them for a weekly clean. If Hannah is going to be visiting frequently, it'll be well worth the investment.

I've just finishing putting away groceries when I hear a knock at the door.

Perfect timing.

"Hey, come on in. You look gorgeous," I can't help the smile that spreads across my face when I see Hannah standing at the door, looking as amazing as always.

"Hey Helmet, aw you're too sweet."

"Just being honest."

I take her coat and hang it by the door, before leading the way to my living room.

She wanders around, looking at the few photos I have on the walls. I never went into a lot of effort to make the place like home, but there are a few little touches here and there that seem to be drawing her interest.

"Wine?" It's a little too early to order dinner, but the liquid courage might help me through the difficult conversations that need to be had tonight.

She nods, "You know me too well, Jensen."

We sit side by side on the couch in the living room, sipping at our wine. A little more at ease in each other's presence than we did the night before.

We make a bit of small talk, discussing the weather and New York traffic.

"What's on your mind, Helmet? Something's bugging you."

 _Shit._

"Uh, nothing. I'm good."

She fixes me with a glare, "You're not. What's going on in that head of yours?"

 _Guess I'm not as subtle as I thought. Well done, idiot._

"I'm just wondering about a couple of things, I guess. But I don't want to upset you. So I don't really know how to bring them up…"

She looks a little concerned, but shrugs. "Whatever it is, you can ask me, Clay. If I don't want to answer then I'll tell you, but I'd prefer we be honest with each other this time around."

"Well, firstly, I guess… I am wondering…"

"Spit it out, Jensen."

"I'm wondering if you're single?"

She laughs loudly for a few moments.

" _That's_ what had you all worked up? Oh Clay, you haven't changed a bit!"

I'm sure that my face is bright red, I can actually feel the heat crawling up my neck.

She reaches a hand out and touches my knee gently, "Yes, I am single."

I nod, feeling relieved. Then I remember the flowers, and quickly stand to retrieve them from the kitchen.

"I got these for you."

I watch her eyes light up, and her smile light up the room as she takes them from me.

"Clay, they're beautiful. Thank you." And her lips gently press against my cheek for a moment.

"Not as beautiful as you."

Even I'm amazed at how charming I'm being. None of the stuttering or awkwardness that usually accompanies Clay Jensen whenever he's trying to flirt. I seem way more confident than I feel.

She blushes, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Stop it, you're making me blush!"

She puts the flowers on the coffee table and turns back to me, sliding slightly closer to me on the couch, but not quite touching me.

"What else were you wondering about? Something is still on your mind…"

I shrug, really not knowing how to tackle this next hurdle. I'm afraid she'll run from me if I bring it up, but I think this conversation is really important.

"Uh…"

"It's okay, Clay. Honestly."

I can't even look her in the eyes anymore, I stare at my hands.

"I'm wondering about when you tried to, you know…"

"Oh."

I feel her move away from me on the couch, like she's physically recoiling from the question.

"I'm sorry, forget I asked. What do you want for dinner?"

I see her shake her head out of the corner of my eye.

"No, it's okay. Sorry, I should've expected that you would ask, but I wasn't really."

"Hannah, seriously, please forget I asked."

I look up at her and notice the faraway look in her eyes and I know she's remembering. Her eyebrows are furrowed like the memory is painful, which I'm certain it is.

"No, I can talk about it. You should know. I used a razor from my parents shop. After I left school that day, I went home and I cleaned my room… just to make it a bit easier on my parents. I left the second set of tapes at Tony's, and mailed the first set to Justin. I actually came to the Crestmont and left my uniform on the counter, but I didn't stay to talk to you. I didn't want you to change my mind, and you were the only person who cared enough about me to do that. I went home, changed into some old clothes and filled the bath with hot water. Then I got in the bath, wearing the old clothes, and cut both my wrists. My mom found me unconscious and called an ambulance. A minute later and I would've already been dead."

I can feel tears running down my cheeks, hearing how broken her voice is as she recalls the worst moment of her life.

She is silently crying too, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Come here." I reach over to her, and pull her into my arms. I feel the silent sobs shaking her body as she cries into my shoulder, and I rub her back, her hair, until she calms down several minutes later.

"I'm so sorry I asked Hannah. I didn't want to upset you."

"No, I'm glad you did. It's something that was bound to come up sooner or later, and I'm glad it's out the way now."

I reach up and gently wipe her tears away, amazed by how blue her eyes seem.

"Thank you for sharing that with me."

"I'll never forget it – every time I look at my arms I'm reminded of it. It'll never really leave me, but I'm learning to accept it as part of my life."

I glance down at her arms, covered by the long sleeves, and inwardly cringe at the idea of anything marking her perfect skin.

She notices me looking and takes a deep breathe, slowly pulling up each sleeve to her elbow, then looks away as though to avoid seeing my expression. I'm sure she's expecting me to react negatively.

The scars are long; from her wrists to her elbow. They've obviously faded over the years, now a pale white strip that runs up the centre of each forearm. They're not as bad as I was expecting, but I can't imagine how it would feel for her to have to see them every day. Everything about Hannah is beautiful, though, including her scars.

I reach down and take her hands, one at a time, raising them to my lips and kiss each scar in turn.

Her face shows her surprise, as her eyes again fill with tears and she softly whispers, "Thank you."

"You are beautiful, Hannah. Everything about you is beautiful. Including your scars. They're part of you, they show your journey, and your survival. They're part of you, and that makes them beautiful."

I'm not expecting it when she launches herself into my arms, hugging me tightly to her. When she pulls back her tear streaked face is happy though, and the sparkle is back in her eyes.

The rest of the evening is much more light-hearted. We order Chinese takeout, drink wine and watch bad movies. She spends much of the night pressed into my side on the couch, and eventually, when I'm feeling brave enough, I wrap my arm around her shoulder, pressing a kiss into her hair.

With her, it feels so easy. But I don't ever want her to feel like she's taken for granted. Never.

As she's hopping into her car much later that night, I find the courage to ask her another question that's been niggling away at me for the past 24 hours.

"Hannah?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, umm, will you, umm, do you want to go out for dinner with me?"

"Like a date?"

I know I'm blushing again, and I'm insanely scared of rejection.

"Well, yeah, or as friends. Friends is good too."

She laughs, "I'd love to go on a date with you, Helmet."


	11. Chapter 11

Unfortunately with Hannah's work and study schedule, we don't see each other for three days, and by then it's time for me to go back to work – something that is a dreaded necessity. It's probably the best possible time though; everything is working out perfectly. I've been given a second chance at life.

I've scheduled an appointment with my psychiatrist – the _first_ time I've ever initiated an appointment – to discuss cutting down on my medication. In fact, I don't think I need them at all anymore, but I understand that the withdrawals are horrific, so if I can start slowly cutting down then the sooner the better.

I made the difficult decision not to tell Tony yet. I want to wait until Hannah feels comfortable with the idea of people knowing that she's alive before I start spreading the news. It's hard though, because I want to share her with the people I love. I haven't got anyone to talk to about it, either. I've told my mom vaguely that I'm seeing someone, and she's _so_ happy. I'm sure she thinks her chances of grandbabies are disappearing by the minute. I obviously don't give any details, telling her that I don't want to jinx anything while it's still new.

With my work schedule, it's another four days before Hannah and I both have an evening free for our date. While we didn't see each other for an entire week, we've managed to speak every day. It's brightened my days having text messages to look forward to, or calling her over the Bluetooth while I drive home. It's nice. Really nice, and it's comfortable.

We arrange that I'll pick her up at 7pm, and I'm really, really looking forward to it.

I want to make her feel special, so that she can see just how much I value her. She will never feel unappreciated by me again. Not ever.

I make a reservation at a nice restaurant in town, one that is usually quite hard to get into unless you know someone who knows someone; which fortunately, I do.

I buy her flowers, making sure that there are no roses.

I buy a new outfit for the occasion too, spending almost an hour and a half at the store but finally leaving with a new suit; dark grey, a deep blue button up and new shoes.

 _Tonight has to be perfect._

I'm knocking on her door at exactly 7pm, flowers in hand.

"Hey, you look.. wow… you look incredible, Hannah."

And she does. She's wearing more make up than I've seen her wear before, but it's beautiful and brings out her eyes so much. Her long sleeved dress is dark purple, similar to the colour of the dress she wore to the dance in high school, and matched with black heels is incredibly elegant.

I actually make an effort to close my mouth because I can feel my jaw dropping.

She blushes, a flush of colour rushing to her cheeks.

"Thanks Clay, you look pretty good yourself."

And for a moment I'm transported back to that dance. It's complete déjà vu. It throws me for a few seconds, but I can tell from the faraway look in her eyes that she's been taken back to that moment too.

"Memories huh?" She says after a few seconds, and I nod.

"Here, I got these for you."

I hand her the flowers and watch her whole face light up.

"You are too good to me, Helmet. Thank you. Let me put them in some water before we go."

She ducks inside while I wait by the doorway.

When she comes out, she slips a coat on and locks the door behind her.

"So where are we going?" She bumps me lightly with her shoulder as we wait for the lift.

"You'll see."

I know she doesn't like surprises, but I think this one will be worth it.

"Claaaaay."

And her pout is so damned cute that I want to kiss her, but I don't. I don't want to ruin anything by rushing.

"Wow! You haven't changed a bit!"

She folds her arms and keeps pouting, but I see her struggling not to smile.

"You are adorable, Hannah Baker."

She moves to stand next to me and I wrap an arm around her waist, tugging her closer, and we stay that close together until we reach my car. I let her go only to open the passenger door for her.

"No one has ever opened a car door for me before."

I shrug but inside I'm struggling to believe that she was ever treated like anything less than royalty by someone she was dating, "Get used to it, Baker, I'm a gentleman."

I know she's pleasantly surprised by my choice of restaurant, commenting that she's wanted to try it out for a while but just never got around to it. We are seated at a table in the back, a quieter section which I'm grateful for.

We order wine as we peruse the menu, and I'm fascinated by some of the dishes; things I've never even heard of.

"I don't know what half of this stuff is," I admit, hoping that Hannah won't judge me for it.

To my surprise, and delight, she bursts out laughing before admitting that she was struggling to decide what she'd like and what she wouldn't.

We decide to order two different things and share them, so that we can try a couple of things.

I realise that as much as we've spoken about things, that there is so much I haven't discovered about her. I try to think back to what I used to regret not finding out, when I thought she was gone.

"What's your middle name?"

She smiles and raises an eyebrow at me, "What?"

"It was something I used to… I used to regret not finding out about you."

"Oh."

She reaches out and places a hand over mine, squeezing gently, and I'm not sure if it's more of a comfort to me or to her.

"It's Marie… it's a family name, my mom's middle name is Marie too."

"Hannah Marie, it's beautiful."

She smiles, looking embarrassed, like she isn't used to being complimented. Which maybe she isn't, but she certainly better get used to it because I won't let her ever go a day without thinking that's beautiful or amazing.

"What's yours, Helmet?"

"Anthony."

"Cute."

"It's not cute."

"Is so."

"Is not. I'm super manly, and men aren't cute."

"I think you are utterly adorable, Helmet. Deal with it."

I let her win that one because our food arrives, and it all looks amazing.

As we eat, I try to think of other facts about Hannah that I used to wish I'd had a chance to find out.

"Favourite colour?"

She thinks for a moment, swallowing a mouthful of food, before she answers.

"Purple, I think. What's yours?"

"Blue. Favourite movie genre?"

"Thrillers are good. But I can't watch them by myself."

"Same, but I'm really brave so I could protect you."

"I might just take you up on that, Helmet."

All too soon we've finished our meals, had dessert (despite being stuffed from dinner) and I've paid the bill (despite Hannah insisting for a good ten minutes that we split it, even though there is no way that was ever going to happen).

I help her with her coat before we head back to the car in comfortable silence.

I really don't want the evening to end, it's been a really good night and I'm not ready to say goodbye just yet.

"I can open my own door, Helmet."

I side step past her to reach the car door before she can, opening it for her. "When you're in your own car, on your own, then you can open your own door."

"Smart arse."

"And proud, Baker, it's one of my most endearing qualities, you just can't resist it."

She smirks before settling back in her seat as I close the door gently.

And before I know it, we've reached her apartment building.

"Do you want to come up for a while? It's not that late yet."

So maybe Hannah isn't ready for the night to be over yet either.

"Sure, sounds good."

Soon enough we're settled as usual in her living room, glass of wine in hand, as she scrolls through Netflix. We've agreed on a thriller (one that looks decently scary, and that neither of us have seen) so that I can prove how brave and strong I am, and how capable I am of protecting her. Hannah ducks off to change into pyjamas because her dress isn't comfortable enough for a movie night, and I find myself struck with the most overwhelming feeling of gratitude. And love. And a sense of comfort. I've never had a first date this comfortable.

And just when I thought Hannah Baker couldn't get any cuter, she comes back wearing pink bunny print pyjamas and carrying a fluffy purple throw blanket.

"Not a word, Jensen." She warns straight away, seeing the look on my face.

I make a motion of zipping my mouth shut and throwing away the key.

She sits beside me, spreading the blanket over both of us, as the movie begins.

"We are not watching a thriller with a light on, Baker. That defeats the purpose."

"But it's less scary that way!"

"Not happening, Baker. Turn it off."

"But Claaaay."

I reach over her to turn off the lamp on the side table, plunging us into darkness except for the glow from the television.

"You're mean."

I can almost hear the pout in her voice, and it's completely adorable.

"Yep."

"You're not supposed to agree with me, Helmet."

"Shhh, movie is on."

"Mean."

As the movie gets progressively more scary, and the jumpy kind of scary, Hannah moves closer and closer.

"If you want to cuddle just say so, Baker. I know you're scared." My tone is light and teasing, and I watch her face for her reaction.

"Am not. I'm just… uh… cold. And cuddling is good for that."

We both know she's lying.

"C'mere then, cold one."

She couldn't possibly be any closer to me, unless she was sitting in my lap – which I would not at all be opposed to, by the way – but we fit together perfectly. And she stays pressed against me for the duration of the movie; we are definitely watching more scary movies in the future!

We finally say goodbye a little after 1am, and I head home for a hot shower and to collapse into bed.

I'm just drying myself off, ready to pull my pyjamas on when my phone chimes. Considering it's almost 2am, I know it must be Hannah. I can't help the smile that spreads across my face.

 **Hannah: Now every time there's a noise I think I'm going to get murdered. Perks of living alone.**

 **Clay: Aww is someone a little scared?**

 **Hannah: Rude. So rude.**

 **Clay: I'm kidding, Han. Are you okay?**

 **Hannah: Yes, just sensing my murderer sitting outside my apartment. Good thing I don't have work tomorrow. Won't be sleeping anytime soon. Or ever again.**

 **Clay: You're welcome to come over. I have a spare room. And no funny business, I promise.**

 **Hannah: Is that weird?**

 **Clay: You're seriously asking me if you staying over is weird after everything we've been through?**

 **Hannah: Touché**

 **Clay: I'll make up the spare bed**

 **Hannah: I feel bad**

 **Clay: Don't. I'll even make us hot chocolate ;)**

 **Hannah: In that case… see you in 20 mins x**


	12. Chapter 12

I head into the spare room to quickly get it ready for Hannah, hoping against hope that it's not the mess I remember it being. I kinda wish, no, _really_ wish that we were at a point where she could stay in my room, but I'm really trying to take this slow. I want her to be comfortable with everything we're doing.

I didn't realise that the cleaners had already tidied the room and made up the bed.

 _Wow. Must tip them extra next time._

I head into the kitchen to start making hot chocolate. For a year after Hannah 'died', I drank hot chocolate all the time for her, because I knew how much she loved it. So I became pretty good at making it, and sometimes I still drink it on nights where I'm struggling to sleep. The combination of warm milk and the task of making it seem to help me settle my mind.

A soft tap at the door brings me out of my thoughts and I open the door to Hannah standing in her normal clothes with an overnight bag over her shoulder.

"Long time no see, Baker. Can't get enough of my charm."

She rolls her eyes but I see the smile spread across her face.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Helmet."

"Well, I do believe that you were the one who needed help sleeping tonight."

Another roll of her eyes.

"I believe I was promised hot chocolate."

She places her bag on the floor and accepts the steaming mug from me.

"Not bad, Jensen."

We sit in silence, sipping our drinks.

"Your pyjamas are adorable, Clay."

I blush, glancing down at the blue plaid flannelette.

"I like your bunnies too. Why'd you get changed?"

"I was not driving through New York wearing bunnies. I'll go get changed and brush my teeth."

She places her empty mug on the coffee table and stands to collect her bag.

"Spare room is second door on the left, bathroom is first door on the right."

I collect our mugs and put them into the dishwasher before heading into my ensuite to brush my teeth and get ready for bed.

I pop my head into the spare room to find Hannah already curled up in the bed.

"Goodnight."

"Night, Helmet. Thanks for letting me stay."

"Anytime. My rooms at the end of the hallway, if you need anything just come on in."

I close the door and head to my own room. My senses are all completely heightened knowing that Hannah is in the next room, sleeping over. Not really _sleeping over_ , but literally just staying in my house.

I'm just drifting off to sleep when I hear my door creak open.

"Clay?"

Her voice is soft, hushed, like she doesn't want to wake me, but I'm still just barely conscious.

"Mmm?"

"I heard a noise."

"What kind of noise?"

"I don't know – a noise!"

"You want to sleep in here?"

"Is that weird?"

She's hovering in the doorway, clearly unsure of herself.

"Probably, but weird is good. Here."

I roll over to the edge, because I tend to sleep right in the middle of the bed, and make room for her to climb in.

She still hesitates and I can see the worry on her face illuminated by the hallway light.

"It's okay, I promise not to try anything if that's what you're worried about. Two friends sharing a bed. Totally innocent. I won't even touch you."

"It's not that, Clay. It just seems kinda… fast?"

"I know, and maybe it is. But it's just sharing a bed. It doesn't have to be anything more than that."

She seems to be reassured by that and finally climbs in beside me.

"You're right. Thanks, Helmet."

Now that she's so close to me, I find that I'm not able to sleep anymore. I can hear the soft sound of her breathing as she starts to drift off. I can smell the floral notes of her perfume, the fruitiness of her shampoo. Each of my senses is completely engulfed by her, in the best possible way.

I roll over to study her profile as she drifts off to sleep. Her face looks so peaceful, and free from the worry that I've seen plague her while she's awake. She actually looks about 5 years younger while she's asleep too, completely innocent.

"I can feel you staring at me."

She never even opens her eyes, she just seems to know.

"Sorry. Just can't help it, you're so beautiful."

"You're just feeding my ego, Helmet." But I see a tiny smile quirk at her lips.

"Just being honest."

She reaches over for my hand and tugs me closer to her, wrapping my arm around her waist.

"Maybe cuddling isn't a bad idea after all. But don't get any ideas, Jensen."

I shuffle a bit closer, and pull her further into my arms.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Baker."


	13. Chapter 13

When I wake the next morning, it takes me a minute to figure out what isn't normal. I'm in my room, in my bed, in my apartment. Then I remember the night before, and glance down to see Hannah still fast asleep, all curled up into me. I feel an ache in my chest as I think about all the wasted years, but push away the thought as I remember that I got another chance with her. Something that I never thought I'd get. And I'd sure as hell be making up for wasted time.

I manage to disentangle myself from Hannah without waking her, and head into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. I'm not sure if she'll be offended that I left, but being in such a confined space with her is testing my willpower slightly.

I haven't even kissed her yet.

Once I'm dressed, I pop my head back into the bedroom to check on her, and find that she's awake.

She's sitting up looking at something in her hands – I assume it's her phone.

"Morning, Hannah."

When she looks up, her eyes are wide and pained.

"What is it, what's wrong?"

I rush over to her, and see what she really has in her hands.

The framed photo of the two of us, taken only a week or so before she took her life.

"God it hurts to look at this."

I reach to take it from her.

"I'll get rid of it."

She clutches it to her chest, not letting me take it.

"No. No. It's… it's… I don't even know. But I want you to keep it. It's just a reminder of my last few weeks there. Of what I missed out on with you, by leaving."

I sit beside her on the bed, wrapping her up in my arms, as she continues to look at the picture.

"We're here now, Han. We're okay. You're okay." I smooth her hair over and over; a gesture intended to comfort both of us.

Eventually she moves, stating that she needs to shower, and I let her go. I'm not sure what happened, but I knew that there would be hard days going forward. From both of us. But if I got to see Hannah, and be with her, then it would be worth every bad day, every tear, everything. It would be worth _everything._

Not really sure what to do with myself while she's getting ready, I make the bed and head into the kitchen to make coffee. I even decide to try making pancakes, which actually turn out pretty well for a first attempt!

When she joins me in the kitchen she looks calmer, stronger… like she's ready to face the day.

I wait until we're sitting at the table, full plates and mugs in front of us to ask the question I've been putting off.

"Hannah?"

"Hmm?"

"Are we going to tell people about us? Whatever we are. And, about you? My parents know I'm interested in someone, but really they don't know any details. And then there's Tony…"

She doesn't react the way I expected her to, instead she just looks thoughtful for a few moments, swirling a piece of pancake around her plate.

"Well, I'm open to having a conversation about it. I haven't really thought much about it, and the idea is terrifying so bear with me."

I nod because I understand. I really do.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Again she pauses, like she's choosing her words carefully.

"Well, firstly, I guess I'm wondering what we are?"

 _Damn. I don't know how to answer that one._

"Wow, put me on the spot, Baker!"

She laughs and it eases the ache in my chest ever so slightly.

"Sorry astronomy boy, I was waiting for you to tell me that the moon had aligned with the stars!"

My mouth gapes open at the reference. She remembers that night. She remembers the nickname she'd graced me with.

"You remember that?"

"How could I forget the most romantic night of my life?" Her eyes are twinkling and it takes me a moment to realise she's blinking back tears.

I reach over and take her hand in mine, rubbing soothing circles over her palm.

"I want to be with you, in whatever way you're comfortable with. I lost you once, and I don't think I can do that again."

"You're a special guy, Clay. One of a kind."

I pretend to be offended, "Special? I thought we established years ago that special isn't a compliment."

"Take what you can get, Jensen." She shrugs, popping another piece of pancake in her mouth.

"Seriously though… I'm happy with how things are going. We can take it as slow as we need to, but the idea of you seeing anyone else…" I trail off because I'm not quite sure how to finish that sentence.

"I'm not seeing anyone else, Clay."

"I know, I meant… I meant that I guess I'd like for us to be dating each other… exclusively?"

She smiles like it's the most obvious answer in the world, "We are, Clay."

I can feel my face burning from embarrassment. She makes it seem so easy. And she's supposed to be the terrified one.

"So, can I tell my parents? About us?"

She ponders for a few moments, taking her time chewing her food.

"I suppose so. My parents will probably want to meet you properly too, once I tell them. I'm not ready for anyone else to know, just yet. Not Tony, or anyone else from that town. Not yet, but soon. Is that okay?"

And I smile because it is okay. It's _so_ okay.

"Yes, you just tell me when you're ready."

She nods, "I will."


	14. Chapter 14

Hannah left in the early afternoon, needing some time to think. She also said she needed some space before she made the call to her parents. I didn't want her to go, I really didn't. But I needed to respect her needs first and foremost.

I knew that she was dealing with a whole lot of things, and I would be here for her when she was ready.

I made a mug of coffee and sat down to call my mom. I didn't want to put it off any longer, and I wanted to get the conversation out of the way so that I could get the weight of it off my shoulders.

She answered on the third ring, like she always did.

Some things just never change.

And the familiarity was so comfortable. Just what I needed.

 _"Hello?"_

"Hey Mom, it's me. How are you?"

I could hear something in the background, and I assumed that she was fussing around in the kitchen.

 _"Clay! Honey it's so good to hear from you. Dad and I were talking about coming out to see you in a couple of weeks. How are you? I miss you!"_

I laugh but inside I'm a child again, wanting my mom to give me a hug and make everything in the world okay again.

"I'm good, Mom. Really good. I'd love you guys to visit. You can meet my girlfrie-"

And I'm cut off by a squeal. My Mom actually _squeals._

 _"Oh honey! She's your girlfriend now! How wonderful! We'll book our flights tonight! What's her name? Tell me everything!"_

I take a deep breath, "She's incredible. She's actually someone I went to high school with."

A pause.

 _"From Liberty? What's her name, honey?"_

"Her name is Hannah. Hannah Baker."

And I wait for the penny to drop.

 _"Hannah.. Baker? Oh Clay, honey. Hannah died, sweetheart. She died a long time ago. And I am so so sorry, honey. I know you miss her terribly. It was a terrible traged-"_

"No, Mom, she's alive! She didn't die. Her parents moved her away so she could start over, and well… she's here in New York. She's incredible."

I can hear my parents talking in the background, their voices muffled so I'm assuming that Mom has her palm over the speaker.

 _"Sweetheart, Dad and I are going to come out next weekend. We wish we could get out there sooner, but we'll be there as soon as we can okay?"_

Great. They think I'm losing it.

"Mom, she's alive! I'm not losing it!"

 _"Oh Clay, honey. I know she was special to you… and well, we'll speak about this when we see you."_

"She'll be excited to meet you both. Just give her a chance."

 _"We only want you to be happy, honey."_

"Well, Hannah makes me happy. I have to go, but send me a copy of your flights so I can pick you up from the airport."

 _"Take care of yourself sweetheart. We love you."_

"Love you too."

And I felt completely deflated as I hung up the phone. They really thought I was going crazy. And Hannah was upset. I felt the lowest I had since I'd realised that she was alive.

 _But she IS alive._

 _You are NOT losing it._

 _You have a beautiful girlfriend._

 _You have parents who just want you to be happy._

 _You are OKAY._

And I was. I was okay.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hannah: Hey helmet, are you free tonight?**

 **Clay: Always free to see you** **J**

 **Hannah: Okay, don't freak out…**

 **Clay: Uh, Han… what have you done?**

 **Hannah: I told my mom and dad, and they've invited us over for dinner?**

 **Clay: Tonight?**

 **Hannah: Yep, 6.30. I'll pick you up?**

 **Clay: You want me to meet your parents? Tonight?**

 **Hannah: They'll love you, Helmet. Stop worrying, you'll get wrinkles.**

 **Clay: Jesus woman, the things I do for you**

 **Hannah: I know, and you're amazing. Pick you up at 6?**

 **Clay: No, I'll pick you up. The gentleman always drives**

 **Hannah: Clay, darling, I am perfectly capable of driving**

 **Clay: Then drive over here and I'll drive from here**

 **Hannah: Claaay**

 **Clay: See you at 6, my beautiful girl x**

 **Hannah: You're lucky I kinda like you, cutie x**

 _Well, shit._

 _Shit. Shit._

 _Fuck._

I had literally no time to prepare mentally to meet Mr and Mrs Baker. I had no time to psych myself up for this. What if they didn't like me? What if they didn't think Hannah and I should be together?

 _Shit._

First things first, what the hell do I wear?

Why do all my stresses seem to stem from my wardrobe? I needed to go shopping. Maybe Hannah could help me. She always looks amazing, no matter what she's wearing.

 _Right. Okay. Blue jeans. Maroon checked button up. Sleeves down? No, rolled up. More casual. Black jacket. Which shoes?_

I was so nervous. I actually felt nauseous.

 _Breathe._

 _Get it together, man._

I only had two hours until Hannah was going to arrive, and we'd need to leave straightaway because I wasn't going to be late. No way.

I briefly considered taking some Valium to calm my nerves, but I didn't want to space out over dinner either.

I settled on a steaming hot shower to soothe my frazzled nerves. The only thing I succeeded in doing was using up all the hot water, and probably sky-rocketing my water bill.

 _Good one._

After fussing with my hair and outfit for the longest time, I felt like it probably wasn't going to get much better.

A spritz of cologne, and I was ready.

Or as ready as I was going to be.

A soft knock at my door.

 _Surely it wasn't 6 already?!_

I opened the door to find Hannah looking as beautiful as always in dark jeans and a pale blue knit jumper, the same shade as her eyes.

"You look incredible, babe."

Her whole face lights up, and she's practically glowing, "Babe?"

"Well, you are kind of a babe… so it suits."

A flush spreads across her cheeks and she's got the most beautiful smile on her face.

"You are… you are just impossibly adorable, Clay Jensen."

I take an over exaggerated bow, "Anything for you m'lady."

"Clay?" Her voice is softer, almost like she's unsure of herself.

I reach across and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, "Yeah?"

Her voice drops almost to a whisper, "Can I try something?"

I'm not sure what to expect here, but I trust her, "Of course babe."

Surprisingly the pet name just seems to roll off my tongue. Who would've thought nerdy Clay Jensen would have the ability to call his stunning girlfriend babe without stuttering? Actually, who would've thought that Clay Jensen would have the ability to land himself said stunning girlfriend?

I'm too busy thinking about calling her babe that I miss her step forwards until we are toe to toe.

She reaches her hands up to wrap one around my neck, and the other to cup my cheek.

I fumble with my hands – because I can't be Mr Smooth all the time – and end up resting them against the curve of her back, bringing her ever so slightly closer.

Our eyes meet, and I feel my heart stutter against all the overwhelming adoration… and _love_ that I feel for this girl.

 _I love her._

And slowly, slowly, she raises herself up slightly to press her lips to mine.

The kiss is gentle, testing the waters.

Her lips are impossibly soft against mine, and I feel a buzz of electricity shoot down my spine as her fingers curl into the hair at the back of my neck.

I let her take control here, I don't want to rush her. I know this was a big thing for her.

So when she parts her lips slightly, I wait for her to deepen the kiss.

Fortunately she doesn't wait too long, her tongue running along the seam of my mouth to gain entry.

 _Man she's good at this._

I feel my knees start to go weak, and find my grip on her waist to be the only thing keeping me from floating away.

Several moments pass before she pulls away, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving slightly as she tries to catch her breath, "Wow."

The sight of her is almost too much.

"Wow is right."

She touches a hand to her lips, "I've wanted to do that for so long."

 _So why did we wait so long?_

"Me too, Han. You've got no idea."

She glances at her watch, "Shit, we're going to be late!"

"Worth it, though?"

" _So_ worth it, Helmet."


	16. Chapter 16

The idea of meeting Mr and Mrs Baker properly, as Hannah's boyfriend, is slightly terrifying. I remember coming across them once or twice in their store, but I don't really remember much about them. I was always too distracted by their daughter.

I recognise it as an important step in our relationship, plus the idea of being introduced to _anyone_ as her boyfriend is actually really exciting. It's what I used to day dream about in class, _before_ she died. After that, I used to fantasise about her turning up one day and it all being a big misunderstanding. I never, _not for one second_ , thought it would ever actually happen.

 _I am so, so lucky._

I convince Hannah to let me stop at a store on the way there to pick up a bottle of wine, a nice bottle of red, and a bunch of flowers, because I'm not showing up empty handed. That's one thing my mom made sure to teach me, and I'm grateful for it. Growing up, I was always the polite friend. I was always invited back for dinner, time and time again.

 _I can do this. They will like me. They have no reason not to._

I pull up to the curb in front of the home Hannah points out, and take a few deep breaths to calm myself.

"They're going to love you, Helmet, stop your stressing," Hannah laughs a little, poking me in the side as I roll the tension from my shoulders.

"I'm not stressing," I lie, and we both know it.

Hannah reaches out, cupping the back of my neck to bring my face to hers, pressing our lips lightly together, and whispering softly against my mouth, "Let's do this, Helmet."

The kiss is insanely reassuring. She makes me feel like I could do just about anything.

I hold my hand out to help her from the car as I open her door, smiling as I feel her linking our fingers together to lead me up the front path.

She lets herself in the front door, calling out as she closes the door behind us, "Mom! Dad! We're here."

I glance around the entry of the home Hannah moved to, after we all thought she had died. The place she must have spent so long recovering, growing older, and moving on from her painful past. So many memories, good and bad, must live in these walls.

It's homely, tidy, comfortable and warm. Just what I expected for the Baker home.

Mrs Baker comes hurrying into the front room, pulling Hannah into a hug, "Oh darling, it's so good to see you!"

"And you must be Clay, it's so good to _finally_ meet you!" I notice the pointed look she sends Hannah's way, and before I know it, I'm being pulled into a hug too.

"It's great to meet you too, Mrs Baker."

Mrs Baker laughs, "Mrs Baker is my mother-in-law, please call me Olivia, dear."

I hand her the flowers and wine, smirking at Hannah as Olivia tells me what a sweetheart I am for thinking of her. Hannah rolls her eyes, but she looks radiantly happy. She's _glowing._

The introduction with Mr Baker is much the same, only without the hug. He greets with me a firm handshake, insisting that I call him Andy, and asked if I wanted to give him a hand with getting some drinks.

Hannah raises her eyebrow, a pleased smile on her face, as she watches the interaction between Andy and I.

I follow him through the house noticing all the photos of Hannah decorating the walls and tables throughout the house. Baby photos, photos of a tiny Hannah with pigtails, school photos. I even see photos that span the time that I thought she was gone. It's somewhat comforting to be able to piece together those blank years in my head.

I'm feeling a bit of tension from Andy as we pour the wine, and I know there's something he wants to say. Fortunately I don't have to wait too long for him to start speaking.

"Look Clay, you seem like a nice guy. I just need to make sure that your intentions with Hannah are to her benefit, and that you understand what being with her will mean. She's come a long way in the past few years, but things with her may always be rocky. Whatever happened all those years ago really broke her spirit. I won't lose my beautiful girl, and I won't let myself or my wife go through the fear of that again. She's going to need someone that will be there for her on good days and bad days."

I respect what he's saying.

"Andy, your daughter means everything to me. She's the most incredible person I've ever met. Thinking she was gone… it was the hardest thing for me to understand. I missed her every single day. I was broken. I will not waste another chance to have her in my life. I will move heaven and earth to make sure that she smiles every single day. I'd do anything for her."

And every word I'm speaking is entirely true, straight from the very bottom of my heart.

"Thank you, Clay. Thank you. I'm so glad she has someone looking after her," Andy shakes my hand and I can see the reassured smile spread across his face.

We sit down to dinner, and it's quickly made clear just how much effort Olivia has gone to.

"This looks incredible, Olivia."

"Thank you, Clay. Eat up. This one certainly has more manners than that last one we met… Jake, was it?"

Hannah tenses beside me, her fork clattering to the table, "Mom!"

I automatically reach for her hand, squeezing it gently. I can't stand the thought of Hannah being upset by anything, even if it is just the mention of an old boyfriend that causes it. I want every single day to be filled with her smiles and laughter.

"Sorry, sweetheart. It's true though," Olivia remarks as she sips at her wine.

I'm now insanely curious about this Jake. Was he a serious boyfriend? A fling? Someone she still speaks with? I know better than to ask about him now, but I file it to bring up once we're alone. We haven't really spoken about Hannah's previous relationships.

Olivia quickly changes the subject, asking me about what I do for work, then we discuss Hannah's studies and her job at the pub.

I ask about the store, which they reopened in New York, and they tell me how successful it has been. It seems that the move to New York was beneficial to more than just Hannah's recovery. I'm happy for them; I just regret missing so many years of Hannah's life.

It's comfortable conversation, and I'm touched by the love that this family has for one another.

After dinner and dessert, we move into the living room with steaming mugs of coffee. I'm insanely pleased when Olivia produces a few photo albums to show me some photos of Hannah.

Hannah blushes bright red, snuggling into my side and burying her face in my shoulder, as Olivia fills me in on the context of each photo. First day of school, high school graduation, 18th birthday, the day she got her license. _So many memories._ I am so ridiculously happy to be sharing in these moments, and I hope that I get to be part of each new memory formed in Hannah's life.

We say goodbye as it starts to get late, promising to visit again soon. I hear Olivia whisper to Hannah that "this one's a keeper", before she hugs both of us.

"Take care of our girl," Andy says to me, shaking my hand after kissing Hannah's cheek.

" _Always_ ," I promise them, and I mean it.


	17. Chapter 17

I pull my car up alongside hers in my apartment buildings car park. She's spent most of the drive dozing in her seat, obviously completely exhausted after the big evening we had. It was a big step, and I'm sure she was quite nervous about how it would all go. I'm so grateful that it went well, and that her parents seem to approve of our relationship. They're wonderful people, and I'd be honoured to call them family at some point in the future. In _our_ future.

I reach a hand over to squeeze her thigh gently, trying to rouse her from her sleep. She shifts slightly, but doesn't quite wake up.

"Hannah?" I squeeze her leg again, not really wanting to wake her up because she looks so peaceful, but at the same time it's getting late and I know she'd be much more comfortable in her bed.

"Mmmm?" Her voice is groggy with sleep, but her eyes are open, staring blearily at me.

I take a moment to just drink her in; she looks unbelievably gorgeous with her sleep tousled hair, her eyes slightly puffy from sleep.

 _I'm completely gone over this girl._

"We're back at mine gorgeous girl, but I'm a bit worried about you driving when you're so tired. Do you want to stay again? I probably have a spare toothbrush. Or I can drive you to your place?" I say everything cautiously, not wanting her to get the wrong idea about why I'd want her to stay. I'd be happy for her to sleep in the spare room. I just don't want her driving when she's clearly exhausted.

She looks deep in thought, and I can't tell whether it's because she's considering my offer, or whether she's still trying to wake herself up.

She speaks after a few moments, her words still slightly husky, "I'll stay?"

I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face.

"Want me to swing past yours so you can grab a few things?" I realise as I say it that it makes no sense at all, but she said she'd stay and that makes it hard for me to think logically.

She shakes her head, and I see her cheeks flush in the reflection of the moon, "Umm, I actually hoped you'd ask me to stay so I've got what I need in my car." Her words are rambled, a mixture of embarrassment and tiredness mixing into an adorable combination that makes my chest ache with how much I _love_ everything about her.

"You're welcome to stay anytime, Han. I mean it." And I do. I'd love for her to be the last person I see every night and the first person I see every morning. I won't rush things though, I'll take it as slowly as she needs me to, as long as I can call her mine.

The smile that lights up her face is beyond gorgeous, "Thanks Helmet."

I'm out and at her door before she has a chance to react, and she falls heavily against me as she stands.

"Oh baby girl, it's been a big day huh?" My words are whispered against her temple as I wrap my arm securely around her waist.

I feel her nod against my shoulder, "Uh huh."

I guide her over to her car, shouldering the bag she pulls from her boot, making a point of exaggerating how heavy it is.

 _What is it with girls and packing everything except the kitchen sink?!_

We make our way up to my apartment in a comfortable silence, my arm still wrapped around her waist, with most of her weight – which really isn't much – leaning against me. It's _perfect._

She seems to perk up a bit as we get settled inside.

"Is it okay if I take a quick shower, Clay?" She asks as I pop the kettle on to make us a hot drink.

"Of course, don't even ask Han. Make yourself at home."

She presses a light kiss to my cheek before disappearing down the hallway.

 _God I could get used to this._

She emerges wearing pale blue pyjamas that make her eyes absolutely pop. I actually find it distracting, almost burning my hand on the damned kettle.

"I, uh, I… uh, I'm going to grab a shower too."

I need a cold shower to clear my head.

Her face shows that she knows exactly what is going on, the amusement making her eyes crinkle at the sides.

"Sure, Helmet. I'll finish up here," she says, bumping me out of the way with her hip.

I feel a bit better after a shower.

 _What is she doing to me?_

Plus pyjamas are so comfortable it's hard to feel anything but relaxed when you're wearing them.

"I can't get over how adorable you look in pyjamas."

I roll my eyes as I drop heavily to the couch beside her, reaching for a mug on the coffee table in front of me. "There's that word again."

"That word sums you up perfectly, Clay. Better get used to it."

I roll my eyes again, because what can I even say to that?

She moves closer to me, resting her head against my shoulder as we sip our drinks.

"Thank you for tonight. It was really, really special. My parents love you."

I turn my head to press a kiss to the top of her head. "They're amazing people."

"I'm lucky to have them… and to have you." She reaches up and pulls my face down to her, bringing our lips together.

I reach blindly to put my mug on the table so I don't scald either of us, hoping that I don't miss.

 _That would really kill the mood._

Once both my hands are free, I reach over and pull Hannah closer to me, deepening the kiss.

She tastes like hot chocolate and strawberries, and it's completely _intoxicating._

I'm cautious with her, not wanting to go too far, or do anything she isn't comfortable with, but at the same time it's _really_ testing every ounce of will power that I have not to completely take charge. I seem to be the experienced one here, but I'll let her be in control.

I can't help but wonder how many people she's ever been with. I wonder about Jake. And I'm finding it hard to concentrate, with her tongue in my mouth. Then she's leaning up on her knees to get even closer to me, and _fuck it._ I pull her into my lap, separating our lips so that I can kiss her neck as she straddles my thighs. And then she's undoing her buttons, and it's all happening _so fast._

"Wait, babe, is this okay?" I don't want her to feel pressured, but I'm also _really_ hoping she wants to keep going.

She gasps as I kiss a sensitive spot on her neck.

"More than okay."

And it's like déjà vu.

Only I hope this ends better than the last time we were in this situation.

I scoop her up into my arms and carry her to my bedroom, because I don't want this to be a rushed encounter on my couch. I want to take my time and explore every inch of her body. I want to treat her like the princess that she is. I want her to feel how much I care for and respect her.

I want her to know how much I love her, even if I can't quite bring myself to say the words yet.


	18. Chapter 18

I wake in the morning wondering whether I'd just had the best dream of my life, because surely I don't deserve to be _that_ lucky in reality.

Then I glance across and see her bare shoulders, feel her legs intertwining with mine, and I thank my lucky stars that I get to live this life.

I know there is a conversation to be had though, because she seemed so uncertain of herself last night. While she didn't push me off and demand I leave, there was almost an undertone of fear in her eyes, and the way she held herself back. I know that part of that is to do with being a victim of rape, and seeing someone else being raped, but it seems there's more to it. And she told me last night _that if I asked her if she was okay one more time_ …

I carefully extricate myself from her body that has somehow wrapped itself almost entirely around me, and start getting ready for the day.

Since she's here, I find that I want to always look my best for her. There's this fear of her finding someone else sitting in the back of my mind. I'm sure that stems from being the thin, nervous, scrawny, nerdy guy for almost the entirety of my school experience.

Once I've finished in the bathroom, I find that she's still fast asleep. She looks completely adorable with her lips slightly parted, and her hair fanning around her face.

I make a split second decision, grab my keys and coat, and head out quickly.

I know there's a little bakery down the block that sells her favourite pastries, and the coffee there is amazing too. I can be there and back in fifteen minutes, if I'm quick. Halfway there I realise I should've left a note so that she doesn't think I've bailed on her. Not after what we shared last night. Surely she'd know I wouldn't do that to her. But of course now my anxiety is playing up, and I'm speeding to get there before she wakes.

 _Calm down. She knows how much you care. You're not Justin, you're not Bryce… you're not Jake. Whoever the fuck that is._

A couple of doors down from the bakery is a florist, and I pick up a bunch of flowers for her. For no other reason than she's Hannah Baker, and I'm Clay Jensen. She deserves the whole freaking world, and I'd give it all to her if I could.

I'm slightly puffed as I juggle all my purchases on the way up to the apartment. Her car was still next to mine in the lot which was definitely a relief. I'd been having thoughts of her leaving when she realised I wasn't there.

Somehow I manage to get the door open, after too many moments of rearranging everything and managing not to spill the steaming coffee, so that I could get a hand free, and hear the shower in the bathroom running.

 _Thank God._

I grabbed a few plates, and start laying out the different pastries, and the flowers, and the coffee, when I hear footsteps approach from behind me, arms wrapping around my waist.

"Morning beautiful," I whisper, managing to turn so that she wrapped up in my arms instead of against my back.

Her arms tighten around me, "Morning helmet."

"I got breakfast…" I gesture unnecessarily to the spread on the dining table.

Her whole face lights up, "You're like… perfect, Clay Jensen, you know that?"

I shrug, pulling a seat out for her, kissing the top of her slightly damp hair which smells so incredible I have to resist actually sniffing it.

We start to eat, and I feel a bit of tension rising between us.

"Hannah?"

She glances up, swallowing a mouthful of food, before replying, "Hmm?"

"Who is Jake?" I'm sure there would probably be a more appropriate time to ask, but it's eating away at me. I _need_ to know.

She stiffens, and I watch her face start to pale slightly, "No one."

I'm a bit thrown by her response. _No one? Seriously? Jake's 'no one'?_

If I'm honest, I'm a bit pissed off too. She's lied straight to my face about what is potentially a serious conversation we should be having.

I've been completely honest with her about things that have been hard for me to talk about.

 _And look what happened the last time she hid how she was really feeling from everyone._

"Really? No one? I know that's not true." I reply, trying to keep any accusatory tones from my voice, but I can feel heat rising in me that I try to bite back.

She shakes her head, avoiding eye contact, "He's _no one_."

Now I am mad.

I love her, I do. But I don't have to sit here and be lied to.

Not now especially when I've laid all my cards on the table, and been brutally honest with her out of my respect for her and our relationship.

I stand up, scraping my chair back loudly.

My keys, wallet and phone are lying within reach on the table, so I grab them before I start heading for the door.

I hear her stand too, her voice carrying a hint of panic, "Clay? Where are you going?"

I don't even bother replying.

I let the loud slam of my apartment door do it for me.


	19. Chapter 19

I somehow manage to shrug my coat on as I hurriedly make my way to the elevator, but I hear the door open, and the panicked, "Clay!" being shouted at me. I keep walking though. I know if I see her then I'll go back. But I can't. I can't just accept what happened. I won't.

I hear footsteps coming after me, but I keep my head down and keep walking. I don't even know where I'm going. I just need to put as much distance between myself and that situation as I can. I need to _breathe._

The footsteps are getting closer, and I momentarily consider running, but that just seems so _juvenile._

 _Much like walking away from your first argument, huh?_

My arm is wrenched back and I'm forced to stop walking. I don't turn around though. I won't make this easy on her. _She_ did this. _She_ lied. Deep down I know I'm at fault too, but the anger is making it easy to see only her mistakes.

This is an anger that I haven't felt in nine years.

I momentarily consider whether it's because I'm slowly reducing the amount of medication I've been taking, and whether the medication was numbing my emotions.

 _Probably._

I know that Hannah and I bickered with each other in high school. Man, there were times when she'd literally burst into tears because of something I said without realising. Or when she'd get _so_ mad at me for being clueless.

Somehow I put this relationship on such a pedestal that I didn't think we would have problems.

 _Stupid me for thinking it would be perfect. That our second chance would be perfect._

I am still looking at the ground so I see her feet come into view as she steps in front of me.

 _I'm well aware of how immature I'm being, but I don't care._

"Clay?" Her voice is broken, thick with the sound of tears. A sound that would normally shatter me, but I push away any sympathy I have for her.

"Clay, look at me!"

I take a deep breathe, and look up. My eyes meeting her bloodshot, tear filled, blue eyes. I will never get over how blue her eyes seem when she's crying.

 _Stay strong. Don't back down._

"Where are you going?!" Her voice breaks on a sob that she smothers with the back of one hand, while her other squeezes my shoulder.

I shrug away from her, taking a step back, whispering in a voice that doesn't sound like my own, "I need some space."

She flinches, her face crumpling as she bursts into loud tears, "NO! You don't get to walk away from me, Clay. You don't. Please don't."

She sounds so broken, so desperate, that it's harder for me to walk away than I thought it would be. I wonder how much of her attraction to me was her ability to walk all over me in high school.

 _Stupid Clay Jensen, the school push over._

 _Not anymore._

I'm slightly aware that I'm being irrational, but I can't find it in me to back down. On principle, I need to walk away.

 _What the fuck are you doing?_

I square my shoulders against what I'm about to do, and look Hannah right in the eyes, "And you don't get to lie to me."

Then I walk away.

I'm almost at my car before I check back into reality, and realise that I actually walked away from her.

Not forever, obviously.

But in the moment of anger, I had to get away.

My phone has been buzzing non-stop since the elevator doors closed, but I don't even bother looking at it.

I need some breathing room.

I don't even know where I'm going. She's in _my_ apartment. I don't really have any friends who are close enough that I could just land on their doorsteps in this state – I'll blame that on my reclusive years.

 _Fuck._

I pound my fist on the steering wheel, _so fucking annoyed with everything_. I don't know if I'm more angry with her for lying to me, or with myself for walking away when I promised I wouldn't.

 _Fuck._

I can't stand being lied to.

 _FUCK._

The last damned time she hid something from me… she tried to kill herself. And I lost her for nine years.

I drive blindly for a while, with no idea where I'm actually going.

I turn the music up to drown out the buzzing of my cell phone.

I drive and drive. And drive.

And it's only as the sun starts setting that I realise just how long I've been driving for.

I pull over to work out where the hell I am, and realise that I'll need the navigator on my phone to somehow get back home.

 **Hannah Baker missed call (43)**

 **Hannah Baker iMessage (64)**

 _Fuck._

I don't even read them. I can't right now.

It's like I've snapped back to being present, because I realise just how _starving_ I am.

 _Thank God I didn't cause an accident, driving like a freaking zombie._

Fortunately I've driven in a large loop, and I'm only about 30 minutes from home in a part of town I've never been in.

 _Nothing like using fighting with your girlfriend as an excuse to explore your city._

I drive through McDonalds for a fatty, greasy concoction to line my rumbling stomach, and start heading towards home.

I've calmed down now. A lot. My red hot anger has been replaced with hurt.

 _Why doesn't she trust me?_

 _Why can't she be honest with me?_

 _What are we, without trust?_

I'm pulling into the apartment parking lot when I realise that maybe she's still here. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, or else my McDonalds isn't agreeing with me, and I'm not sure if I'd rather her be here or not.

My heart sinks a little when I see the vacant spot that had been occupied by her car.

 _I hope she's okay._

Part of me will always worry about another episode. I can't, I just _cannot_ deal with the idea of being the driving force behind it.

I am completely overwhelmed with regret for leaving her. I should've stayed and talked to her.

Could've, should've, would've… _didn't._

My apartment feels lonely now when she's not here. It only feels like home when it's the two of us together. But now… now it feels like solitary confinement.

She's cleaned up a little, tidying away the breakfast dishes and making the bed. She must have spent a bit of time here after I'd left.

 _Maybe she was hoping you'd come back._

I don't know what to do now.

Now that the anger is gone, and it's been replaced with guilt and regret, I feel like the worst person alive.

 _Fucking idiot._

I sit down to read over the messages that she's sent me, and then maybe I'll call her.

 _Or maybe I'll just be the gutless loser I am and wallow in my regret and guilt for a while._

The messages range from telling me to come back, to apologising, to promising to be honest, to anger that I left, and then full circle back to telling me to come back.

 _Such a fucking idiot._

There are voicemails too, but I don't need to hear them. Not right now, maybe not ever. I fucked up in a big way by allowing myself to get angry enough that I needed to leave. I can't bear to hear the hurt in her voice. It was hard enough hearing how I'd let her down on the tapes. The way her voice seemed to choke up or the monotonous way she told us how she'd come to give up on her life would haunt me to my dying day.

Seeing the scars on her wrists would always cause a stab of pain in my heart.

 _Because I am partially to blame for their existence._

And now, I'm not sure how to fix this. Or even if I should have to.


	20. Chapter 20

I hesitantly attempt to call her after pacing back and forth across my living room for almost an hour. It rings twice before it's declined, the unpleasant click ringing in my ear as the call is disconnected. I try again, finding that I'm not even surprised when it goes directly to her voicemail service.

 _Maybe you waited just a little too long._

 _Maybe walking away was a bigger mistake than you first thought._

I feel my heart sink as I realise just how much I fucked up by walking away from her. It was the very first promise to her that I ever broke, but of course it was the worst one to break. It was the one that meant _everything_ to someone who had already lost _so much_.

 _Including almost her life._

I sink into the sofa, burying my face in my hands as I practise my controlled breathing.

In.

And.

Out.

 _Fuck. I hope she's okay._

 _What if she hurts herself?_

 _What if I've killed her again?_

In.

And.

Out.

I take enough controlled breaths to enable the room around me to stop swimming in and out of focus as I hyperventilated.

 _You're okay._

Hannah probably just needs some space. She's got quite a temper, and I've probably just pissed her off. We'll speak tomorrow, and sort this all out. It will be fine.

 _Should I go to her apartment now?_

As desperate as I am to see her, I know that turning up now will probably make things worse. So much worse. If she's angry, I'm better off letting her seethe alone until she can speak to me without tearing out my jugular.

 _But what if she's not okay?_

She will be. She has to be.

I can't live in fear of her hurting herself forever. We _will_ argue. It's inevitable with our personalities. _Her_ fiery, snarky – but still entirely lovable - personality. But I can't be a pushover forever, for fear of her doing the unthinkable.

 _It's been 9 years._

 _You need to start leaving behind what she did, don't hold it against her forever._

Then I do something I swore I'd never do again.

I go to the wardrobe in my bedroom, reaching up into the very back corner until my fingers find the box I'm looking for, where it was buried under a pile of things to hide it from me… from the world. But I was never able to properly part with it, even though I wanted to pretend it wasn't there.

I stare at the shoebox in my hands, at the thick layer of dust coating it from the years it was ignored, and feel my stomach turn over on itself.

 _Why are you doing this to yourself?_

 _Don't be a fucking idiot._

 _Put it back._

 _Burn it._

 _Get rid of it. Now._

Instead, I carry it into the living room, placing it on the coffee table in front of me, and blow away the layer of dust. My eyes water and I can't help but sneeze as the particles hit me straight in the face.

But I accept it, almost as a punishment for what I'm doing.

The can of worms I'm opening.

The Pandora's box that I am unleashing.

The inexplicable, unnecessary, dangerous way of torturing myself.

But instead of gathering it in my arms and shoving it back into the deep recesses of my closet, I take a moment to really look at it.

The cardboard is peeling away in sections, and it's taken on a decidedly grimy appearance.

The string tied around the box is fraying and I'm surprised it's still holding together.

I'm not strong enough right at this moment to face what lies inside. I need a moment. Maybe a few moments.

There was a time when I never thought I'd see this box again. I left it on a desk in front of an inattentive teacher and walked away, thinking that it was over. At least that part of it was over anyway - that I'd never again be haunted by the dulcet tones of a dead girl.

 _Little did I know._

A couple of weeks later, once Hannah's name was rattling less frequently around the hallways of Liberty High, and teachers were less concerned about any suicidal intentions that any of us may have been having, I found a package on the front stoop after school.

A package that was undeniably similar to the one I'd left in Mr Porter's office.

At first I thought I was going crazy, _really_ losing the plot. My next thought was that someone was finding perverse pleasure out of torturing me; I'm looking at you Justin Foley or one of your Crony's.

But it was neither in the end.

A note was taped to the top of the box, in a handwriting I didn't recognise.

 **"A reminder that you're one of the decent ones, Clay. Don't ever forget."**

To this day I still don't know who wrote it.

I spent weeks, no - _months,_ searching for the person behind the note. I wanted to thank them for bringing the tapes back to me, so that I have that piece of Hannah with me always, while simultaneously wanting to strangle them for bringing the nightmare back to me.

With shaking fingers I clumsily untie the string, dropping it to the coffee table, before pulling the lid off the box.

 _Fuck._

I dig out the cassette player that I'd slotted in beside the tapes, and struggle with popping open the first tape because my hands are so sweaty.

It takes me a few attempts to hit the play button with the ridiculous trembling in my hands that has very quickly spread throughout my whole body.

 _Breathe._

 **"Hey, it's Hannah… Hannah Baker…"**

 _Holy shit._

I'm no longer 26 years old.

I'm suddenly a 17 year old, socially awkward, heartbroken Clay Jensen.

The room around me disappears as I focus intently on the Walkman in my hands.

I can't breathe, I can't move.

I'm paralysed in place, feeling every single gut-wrenching emotion I felt the first time around.

 **"I'm about to tell you the story of my life, or more specifically, why my life ended."**

Fortunately I find the strength to move as my stomach churns so violently that I barely make it to the bathroom before my McDonald's makes a very hasty return.

 _Not quite so appetising the second time around._

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and hesitate on leaving the bathroom when I'm feeling so unstable.

The dead eyes that stare back at me in the mirror seem foreign after so many weeks of happiness. But they are also _so familiar._ They were the norm for 9 years, and now they're back.

I look as I did when she very first 'died'.

Pale, dark circles, dead eyes.

 _Minus the Harry Potter cut on the forehead, though._

I know there will be more of _this_ if I continue what I'm doing.

And I have _no_ intention to stop until I finish tape 14, the tape where Bryce Walker admits to raping Hannah _after_ beating me to a bloody pulp.

I find a bucket in the laundry, position it beside me on the sofa, and somehow press play again.

 _Be strong._


End file.
